Engend'red in the Eyes
by La gitane solitaire
Summary: Just why is Antonio so depressed in Act1 Scene1? A look at the preceding day. And an answer that plainly ignores the values of subtext! Antonio Bassanio Merchant of Venice.


**Disclaimer:** Oh goodness no, nothing is ever mine. I'm currently killing Shakespeare, who is interestingly enough already dead, lying in a tomb in Stradford. Long live the Bard.

**A/N:** Written in March; I blame too much English coursework. And the film with Jeremy Irons, who practically melts every time he sees Joseph Fiennes' Bassanio. And my mind, which simply seems to enjoy putting boys together... Deepest apologies to the Shakespeare purists, but it's not a theory they won't have come across before! Warning – includes none too subtle references to various lines in the play…

* * *

_**Engend'red in the Eyes**_

The Rialto was too busy a place, thought Antonio briefly as he crossed the bridge. The women who seemed to live upon it called to him as he passed by, but he did not look at them. Their raucous calls followed him as he picked out the newsbearer he was seeking, and even as he greeted the other man, he felt their feline gazes prickling into him. Whilst he received an update on his several ships, which all seemed to be bearing well, he realised the reason he could not bear a complete love for Venice. There was a frightening, grimy undercurrent to the streets, a poison that seeped just beneath the cold waters, and it ran deep, from the whores on the bridge, to the thoughtless Christians, to the hard-hearted Jews. As he thanked his man, embracing him sincerely for the good news, he caught sight, amongst the other men that scrambled to hear of their own business ventures, the tell-tale red cap of one. His lip curled back involuntarily - think of the devil - for here was a Jew himself. One who dealt out money with interest, no less, much to his own disgust. As Shylock raised his sober eyes to regard Antonio, the merchant kicked out almost automatically.

"Get thee gone, cur!" he said, with such venom that he surprised even himself. The usurer stumbled slightly over his heavy robes, but straightened himself, and with a wordless look at his antagonist, made his way through the crowd of people.

Antonio, now thoroughly filled with loathing directed at both himself and everyone else, struggled his own way through the mass of mourners and jubilators and found himself an unoccupied gondola. Wearily he took a place in it, and motioned to the boatman to start moving, whilst the attendant settled the cushions.

As it glided lazily out from the busier waters, and took on less filled parts, Antonio felt his mind relax again. The steady lapping sounds of the water filled his senses, and he lay back. For the first time that day, he allowed himself to think of whom he should not. In absentia, however, he found his heart even sadder from the loneliness.

Rich hair, the colour of darkly coloured bark, and so scented. Antonio drew a deep breath. Wood sandal skin that was smooth around the forehead - oft had he pressed his lips to that tender part - and that was sometimes rougher around the lower cheek, when late nights had brought about a certain carelessness. With no less regularity had Antonio's hands felt it, caressing it gently, before smiling and turning to talk. And eyes -- Antonio shut his own tightly, desperate to capture the exact hue, transcribe the various nuances onto his inner eyelids. But the constantly-changing green, flecked with brown and in turn, ringed with a shade of azure, refused to call itself accurately.

"What is your sufferance, good sir?" The attendant's courteous voice came through to Antonio. "Where would you go?"

Antonio opened his eyes, and gave a soft smile. The sun, already much past midday, shone in the sky, casting both light shadows and reflections on their path.

"I would go to the light of yonder fire," he said, glancing upwards. "I would feel the heat warm me, and then I would drop back down again into these soothing waters, and feel myself cooled again. Does that answer you?"

The attendant looked at him, eyes patient but uncomprehending.

Antonio amended, "I would stay in here, till my mind and body grow discontent at last. Does that displease you?"

"Nay, good lord."

"I am glad of it. Then sail me where you will. It shall make no matter. If you cannot bear me to open arms, then my destination shall make little difference to me. Only keep me from people." Antonio looked out, watching the rippled reflections in the water - weak imitations of beautiful buildings - and yet insistent in their tremulous presence. They were too like his thoughts.

"Where lies your love?" asked the attendant presently. Antonio looked up. He supposed that the general workers were used to being parry to the many whims of their masters, and so could recognise the different spirits that took them.

He sighed. "I know not, this moment. He took away some five days back, and I am weary for his return."

The attendant looked at him sympathetically. "A kinsman, then?"

Antonio watched the distorted images pass on the water's surface. "Aye," he said, the little falsehood falling listlessly. "My brother, and dearer to me than any other love I could have. To see his face would fill me with greater gladness than a thousand other loves. His leaving was abrupt, and I knew not of it till too late. Where he is, what he does, how he fares - all these are unknown to me, and I am worse for it."

He smiled wryly. "Call it protective jealousy. I could not bear to see him go courting. But he would not - he is still young, and he enjoys his youth overly to take any one seriously."

"Feel you pleased at such a thing, my lord?" asked the young man. "I' faith, I too have a younger blood bond, but I feel worse rather than better upon seeing his ways, that are looser than mine were ever."

Antonio made no reply, and they made their way down various paths of water for a lengthy while. The attendant, having a voice that was harmonious to the ear, sang as they travelled smoothly and his pleasant melodies blended softly with the glowing sunset. The horizon was streamed, gradually, in a beautiful orange light that in the waters made fiery liquid gold. The breeze began to skim the surfaces, and Antonio drew his cloak around himself tighter.

Finally, the attendant broke song to give Antonio some wine, which the merchant was grateful to accept. As the echoes of the attendant's song were whipped up by the breeze and drawn away from them, Antonio was moved to speak once more.

"One thought takes me more than any other, this evening," he said pensively. "It is a mournful one, for it is one tinged with regret, and like any touched with that unfortunate feeling, it is forlorn. And yet, I dwell truly; if it should happen that anything befalls him this journey, as my heart forebodes something will, I have never confessed my love. If I should find the chance has passed, then will my days be unhappy. They should live themselves out as one who walks without a spirit, without a life or soul."

"Confess then, and live your love," returned the attendant after many minutes. "My lord, I beg leave to bid thee name an end. The deep eve will be upon us in little more than an hour, and the best of us, be we well or lesser left, must return."

Antonio drained his cup, and took in his bearings. He was nearer the southern part of the city, and it was less reputed. The ghetto was not far.

"Let me here, then," he said. "Mayhap I shall find street walking as healing as your skilled music."

The gondola was brought to the side by the silent, serene sailor, and Antonio paid them duly. He then watched the two men sail away, back towards the Christian sides of the city. The deeply setting sun cast dark shadows now from the buildings, and the lamps were being lit. Antonio began to walk slowly, his legs taking a few moments to remember independent movement. He paid little attention to his bearings, caring not what small streets he wandered through; his thoughts lingered on the last words of the attendant.

_Sweet Bassanio... that you were here to be privy to my affections. _

He leaned against the dimly lit wall, closing his eyes again and giving rest to the heat of his desperately whirling mind.

That you were here, for me to behold and hold, and live my love upon. What would I not say, what would I not do, to prove and profess my long kept love?

That you were here...

_Antonio_! The voice, calling his name. Warmly sweet and also gravelly, like honey and ground glass. _Antonio_!

He groaned and opened his eyes.

What bittersweet illusion was this? For none but Bassanio stood before him, calling his name!

"You are naught but my imaginings," ground Antonio.

But the illusion laughed, grasping Antonio's hands in his own warm ones. "And that I am not!" he said merrily. "Sweet Antonio, look not upon me as a ghost. It is I, I who have returned and I who have found you alone here rather than making joy with our comrades."

Antonio could say and think no more, but instead made forward and pressed his own lips to the other's. The pulsing warmth of the opposite pair took away any doubts of an illusion, and Antonio savoured the taste hungrily.

_Confess, and love..._

Bassanio's lips parted in surprise from the response he had elicited, and Antonio, too far gone already, delved in deeper. Then he heard, at long last, Bassanio's answering moan, and now he kissed the other man harder, melting in the luxury of the responding, caressing tongue. Passion made him rough, and he explored every perfection in Bassanio, shivering and gasping under the sensations of the similarly forceful hands that ravaged him back, sending dangerous thrills shooting through his searing skin. Together, breath ragged, they discovered each other anew against that lonely wall, lit by dying sun and flaming lamps.

The night was long.

---

It was barely an hour before dawn, when Antonio lay in a strange bed, with the half slumbering form of Bassanio draped over him.

"And there, Bassanio, that will do to tell my secret as well as any other way," he murmured, stroking the younger man's hair. "Thou hast been, before aught else I can recall, the centre of my senses, affections, my passions." And he laid a gentle kiss upon that smooth brow.

Bassanio rose then, eyes hooded as if out of deep comforting slumber. Upon his perfect lips were borne the traces of a faint smile, indolent, lethargic, luxuriant.

"Antonio," he said, voice humming in dusky richness. "We must not speak of this again, nor remember it. I have returned from -- nay, more I will not speak now! But on the morrow, I must have suit with you, and from the morrow, you must forget this."

And the lips that sealed upon Antonio's were honey coated, and yet carried the sharp sting of an uncertain warning that he could not ignore nor help but taste.

And the night of exhilaration came softly to an end.

It was not quite midday when Antonio, overlooking one of the quays of Venice, stood at the window, whilst Solerio and Solanio took their breakfast, and questioned his spirit.

"_In sooth, I know not why I am sad..._"

* * *


End file.
